


something just like this

by Dawn_Blossom



Series: Chrom/Grima in Askr [4]
Category: Fire Emblem Heroes
Genre: Birthday, Grima POV, M/M, They figure it out in the end, local dragon can't figure out how to say that he spurns materialism and just wants love, local exalt is trying his best
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-27
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2019-07-03 02:05:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15809112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dawn_Blossom/pseuds/Dawn_Blossom
Summary: It's Grima's birthday (well, sort of).





	something just like this

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, look at me, actually finishing my own birthday fic while it's still my actual birthday. (Yes, this is a birthday present to myself. I'm too much of a cheapskate to try to commission anyone else but luckily I will write this nonsense for free.)
> 
> Title is from [Something Just Like This by the Chainsmokers & Coldplay.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FM7MFYoylVs) And oh, what do you know, it just happens to be my favorite song. Funny how I did that. ;)
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy the fic!

When Grima wakes up to the mouthwatering smell of breakfast, he is initially confused. He is clearly in his bed and not in the dining hall, yet when he opens his eyes, there is food laid out in front of him.

“Good morning,” Chrom’s voice comes from just beside him. “Since it’s your birthday, I thought I might surprise you.”

Surprise him, indeed. Grima blinks slowly, glancing between Chrom and the food.

“My… birthday?” he echoes. “I don’t…”

Chrom furrows his brow, but after a moment, his eyes widen.

“Oh. Oh, gods,” he says. “Er, we always celebrated Robin’s birthday in my world as the anniversary of the day we found him. Since he couldn’t remember and all. But, er, I suppose you would remember your actual date of birth, wouldn’t you?”

Grima frowns. He _should,_ but he cannot. Such a date does not exist, for he was not “born” at all. He is manmade, a creation formed out of divine blood defiled by human blood, a soul brought into the world by forces unnatural. He has no date of birth, and he would not even know where to start in dating his existence. Would it be the moment the demon alchemist started his forbidden science? When the dragon blood was mixed? When his heart began to beat? When the human blood was added? When he began to think thoughts? 

Or perhaps it would be the moment he killed his creator, breaking free of his control like an infant breaks free of the womb.

Even then, he still would not know what date to give.

He cannot speak of it to Chrom. Grima is the only one who knows of his true origins, and even that is one being too many.

Of course, he supposes that this human vessel had a mother and a birth. But Grima has no memory of that. There is still no answer he can give.

“It may as well be today,” he says. “I have not bothered to keep track. I am ancient; that is all I know.”

Chrom frowns, but he nods.

“I suppose the years start to blend together,” he says. He nudges a plate towards Grima. “Perhaps this one will stand out. After all, this is the first time you can celebrate in Askr.”

It is the first time he has any reason to care about his birthday at all. The aging of his body and soul means little to him. But to Chrom, it is important. Something to be celebrated.

Grima picks at his food. 

“So this is your gift to me, is it?” He can admit to himself that he is pleased by the gesture. It is not as though he couldn’t have procured food on his own, but the function of the gift is not what truly matters. He delights in having Chrom’s favor, whatever form it takes.

“Er, well…” Chrom chuckles sheepishly. “I’d hardly call this a gift. I just took it from the kitchens. But the truth is that I have no idea what to give you for your true present. I know a mere trinket wouldn’t do, weapons or armor would be too impersonal, and… I don’t want to disappoint you.”

“Oh…” Grima’s lips twitch into a smirk. “So you’re saying there would be more, but you don’t know what I’d like? I think you know my preferences perfectly well.”

“It can’t be a trifle,” Chrom insists. “I want to give you something that you actually desire, not merely something you would accept. Just tell me something you want, Grima. Anything. I’ll get it for you.”

“Anything…?” Grima has half a mind to ask for something impossible—an acre of land between the sand and the seafoam, golden fleece, a Firebird’s feather—but it sounds harsh even to his own ear, something he would say to an arrogant human seeking his power, not to his lover. But there is nothing material in this world that he holds any passion for, and he would not want to fall prey to greed regardless. All that he truly desires is… Well, it is Chrom himself.

“Seriously, anything,” Chrom says. “If you can’t think of anything, we could try going by the shops in town. Surely something there will catch your eye.”

“I doubt—” Grima pauses. “Wait. _We_ could go? Are you not expected to fight in the Arena today? You do not have the time.”

“I think Kiran can spare me for a few hours,” Chrom says. “That is, if you do want to go.”

Grima averts his gaze.

“Fine,” he says. “But I think you are being foolish.”

And Grima is being selfish, so he does not speak more on the matter.

There are many shops in the Askran city that surrounds the castle. Grima insists that they stop at every one until they find something.

“Er, a hat shop?” Chrom asks as Grima gestures to the first building on the street. “Really? I’ve never seen you wear one before.”

Grims does not need to wear hats; the hood of his coat provides sufficient protection.

“I have never liked any before,” Grima says. “But it is possible I might find something today, is it not?”

“Of course,” Chrom says, though he still sounds bewildered.

Without looking at him further, Grima grabs Chrom by the arm and drags him inside. The shopkeeper approaches them, but Grima brushes past without acknowledgement (“We’re just browsing—” Chrom manages to say in passing, though). They walk past several different styles of hats before Grima realizes something. He comes to an abrupt halt.

“Chrom,” he says slowly. “I… know nothing of fashion.”

The admission is not a shameful one; he simply hasn’t had any need to familiarize himself with such fanciful human whimsies. His own clothing is practical, and though Kiran seems to delight in giving him ridiculous accessories to put on from time to time, he doubts that their actions have anything to do with fashion.

Grima can’t say he truly cares. But Chrom might, perhaps.

“Well…” Chrom hums in thought. His eyes rake over Grima’s form. “I know what was popular in Ylisse…”

Thirty minutes later, Grima is convinced that Chrom does not know any more about fashion than he does.

“You are certain that the hat is supposed to have this many feathers?” Grima asks. Several black feathers have already fallen onto his shoulders as well as the floor. The shopkeeper keeps giving him alarmed glances, and he is certain that she would have approached already were his glares not keeping her at bay. Something is wrong here.

“I thought you liked feathers.” Chrom frowns. “Here. Try this, then. The gold matches your coat’s accents.”

“This is a crown, not a hat,” Grima points out. Still, he is glad to be rid of the feathery thing, and he quickly exchanges the two headpieces.

“Ah…” Chrom pauses, blinking. “You look… Er, well, like royalty, I suppose.”

He averts his gaze. Grima cannot imagine that he enjoys the reminder of what he’s lost. Being royalty clearly never did Chrom any good, but Grima doubts that it is the luxury of the position Chrom misses. Something about duty, perhaps. A theoretical love for the strangers under his care, though Grima has no doubt that they did not care for him in the same way.

“Worthless bauble,” Grima mutters, slinging the crown carelessly to the ground. “It is not even real gold.”

“Sirs!” the shopkeeper cries, the careless treatment of her wares finally pushing her over the edge. “If you are looking for everyday wear, I might suggest you look outside the _costume_ section!”

Grima and Chrom freeze, turning to look at the shopkeeper in unison.

“These are… costume pieces?” Chrom asks.

“Y-You’re some of those people from another world, aren’t you?” the shopkeeper stammers. “I would have told you sooner, but, um, you… You looked like you didn’t want to be disturbed.”

She glances uneasily at Grima, who quickly turns his own gaze to Chrom.

“I’ve decided that I do not want a hat,” he says

“... Is that so?” Chrom chuckles a knowing laugh. 

Grima grits his teeth. It was wrong to come here, knowing as he did that he could not care less about the store’s products. Of course Chrom thinks it’s amusing; he does not understand.

The shopkeeper does not protest their departure. She has no doubt realized that there is no benefit to their presence. No sales to be made, no profit to gain. She would have surely turned them out if they had not swiftly left the premises themselves.

“The bookstore,” Grima mutters as they walk down the street. “We’ll go there next.”

He is not willing to give up Chrom’s time yet. But a bookstore, at least, is not so out of character for him to suggest. Indeed, Chrom appears to brighten at the suggestion.

“Of course,” he says. “This world must have many books that you’ve never read.”

“History books, perhaps,” Grima says. “Though I have gotten the gist of it from Alfonse and Sharena. If the magic in this world differs from that in mine, I have not seen evidence of it; I doubt that I will find much by reading books of it here. And strategy texts are unnecessary, the subject remaining the same across worlds.”

“That hasn’t stopped you from reading half of the castle’s library,” Chrom says, his lips quirking into a smile.

“Too many heroes are content to live in this world while knowing nothing about it,” Grima says. “I refuse to be among them.”

The bookstore they ultimately enter is a rather large one. Grima could easily spend hours here just examining the titles of the books… and indeed, he plans to take his time.

The problem is that Chrom stands too far away from him, giving him space that he does not desire. True, Chrom would not be of much use selecting a book in this place. He knows these titles no better than Grima does, and he knows far less than Grima about what Grima actually feels like reading.

It is only an hour into this activity that Grima decides he can bear it no longer. He puts the two books in his hands back on the shelf. They are both biographies of the same ancient Askran king, they are both equally compelling in their narrative, and they would both be worth reading… But they are both equally unimpressive to him.

“I am finished here,” he says, taking a step towards the door.

“What?” Chrom frowns. “There are still dozens of shelves that you haven’t even glanced at.”

Grima closes his eyes. He does not know how to explain himself. So he does not try.

“This was a waste of time,” he mutters. Grabbing Chrom by the arm, he starts out the door, though the two of them get only a few steps outside before Chrom halts..

“Oh, for the love of…” Chrom says under his breath. “Grima, please…”

He covers Grima’s hand with his own. Grima pauses, unable to ignore the touch.

“You’re acting strange,” Chrom says. “I never meant to upset you. If you’re unhappy out here, we can just go back to the castle and—”

“No!” Grima hisses. He digs his fingers into Chrom’s skin. “Did I ever say I was unhappy? You are not paying attention. You are supposed to be giving me what I want…”

“And what is that?” Chrom asks, his voice straining desperately. “Because I truly don’t know, and if you do…” He heaves a sigh, and his next words come out quietly. “I’m trying to make you happy. But I think I’m only succeeding in upsetting you. Grima, you aren’t one for beating around the bush; tell me if I should leave.”

Grima could scream. So he does.

“You utter fool!” he exclaims. The thought of Chrom leaving him now sends lightning down his spine, boils his blood, and freezes his muscles all at once. “Coming out to a shop, _any_ shop, is doomed to be fruitless because shops do not hold anything of value to me. I thought if I came with you, I could at least have your time! But we are just wasting it! I do not want to pretend to be interested in worthless objects!”

Chrom regards him with a grimace, but slowly, it begins to fade.

“You wanted to spend time with me…?” he asks.

Damn it. Leave it to Chrom to cut directly to the crux of the matter. It sounds so insignificant when stated plainly. They spend plenty of time together every day. So it is stupid, and weak, and foolish to be so frustrated over _this,_ but… It cannot be denied.

Grima nods once, refusing to meet Chrom’s eyes. 

A moment later, he is pulled into an embrace.

“That’s all you want?” Chrom murmurs.

Again, Grima nods once. He cannot think of anything he values more than this, more than Chrom being with him. A birthday is meant to celebrate life, but he has had no reason to celebrate it before. He had no reason to be alive before. And so Chrom has already given him something—a reason to exist.. He would not ask for any greater gift. Indeed, no greater gift could be had.

“That’s so easy to give,” Chrom breathes. He leans down to kiss Grima gently. Very gently. It is gentler than Grima had anticipated, but then, perhaps that is for the best. The tension in his body loosens, and for the first time since leaving the castle, Grima relaxes.

Everything is alright. Chrom doesn’t mind this, and nothing else matters.

“We’ll go somewhere else,” Chrom murmurs when they break away. “We’ll do something you actually like. Together.”

Grima cannot keep himself from smiling, his mind too at peace to war with his heart at the moment.


End file.
